


The Wreckage

by Keri T (Keri_1006)



Series: Episodes [6]
Category: Starsky & Hutch
Genre: Episode: s01e06 The Fix, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-06
Updated: 2019-05-06
Packaged: 2020-02-26 22:40:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18726295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Keri_1006/pseuds/Keri%20T
Summary: Missing scene based on The Fix.





	The Wreckage

Hutch was tired, but he was tired in the way that starving children in Africa were hungry. The word had no meaning in correlation to what he was feeling. He had no frame of reference. This level of tiredness was nothing he’d ever experienced before, and nothing he had even known existed. It was like he had died, except no one had told his heart to stop beating.

Even the room he sat in—the familiar, shabby room where he and Starsky typed their reports, received their assignments, and planned their days—was eerily different. It looked the same, but like everything else, it was different, and he didn’t feel like he belonged in it anymore. He couldn’t even remember how long it had been since he last sat at his desk. He didn’t know what day it was, and felt far too self-conscious to ask one of the officers standing by the file cabinets. What would they think of him? What kind of detective didn’t know what day of the week it was, or what date was on the calendar? They’d think he was crazy, and Hutch was terrified they’d be right.

He wished Starsky would come back. He felt an unreasonable desperation for Starsky right then. The desperation was so real, he had to clamp his mouth shut to stop himself from yelling out Starsky’s name. He wanted him so badly. He wanted him as badly as he wished he’d never have to see him again. Never have to look in Starsky’s eyes and see reflected back at him just what he was now.

Starsky knew everything.

Starsky saw everything.

The desperation made him panic more, and he wanted to run. He _had_ to run, as far and as fast as possible. Hutch stood up on legs that shook, and took a deep breath in preparation. He’d run, and then no one would ever find him again. Not even Starsky. Especially Starsky. He’d run and then he’d never have to see that reflection. He’d never have to face the rejection that was sure to come. And the disgust.

“Hutch?” Hutch turned at the sound of his name, and his pounding heart stepped up a notch. Crushing disappointment and shocking relief warred inside him as reality hit. It was too late to run. Starsky was back. And now he’d have to try and be what he’d told Starsky he was just a few hours ago: okay. Did Starsky know he’d lied to him? Surely, he knew all junkies were liars?

“Sorry it took me so long, partner,” Starsky said, moving toward him. “I needed to…well, I’ll tell you about that later. It’s done, though. I watched him get searched, fingerprinted, photographed, and tossed in a cell to wait for his lawyer. It’s done.”

Hutch nodded, somehow grateful that Starsky hadn’t said his name. Hutch wasn’t sure if he could stand hearing the name of the man who had ruined him right now.

Making eye contact was impossible, so Hutch ducked his head down and tried to speak in a normal tone. “Um, does the captain want me to—”

Starsky didn’t let him finish. “I talked to him. All the captain wants for us right now is to go home and get some sleep. He’s gonna talk to us more tomorrow.”

Hutch was amazed at how casually Starsky said “tomorrow” as if he just knew that Hutch would both be here and alive when tomorrow dawned. Hutch didn’t have any certainty of either. He did know one thing, though. Starsky would bury his revulsion right now and do everything he could to help him physically—just like he’d been doing during their time in Huggy’s little room. Starsky fought for him; took care of him—and worst of all, took all the abuse Hutch had heaped on him. Starsky was so decent. So good. So _clean_. No matter that he now knew Hutch was none of those things, he wouldn’t abandon him while Hutch was still so, so—

“Hey, buddy, you’re about a million miles away,” Starsky said, and took Hutch’s forearm. “Did you hear what I said? We can go now.”

Funny, how strong the instinct was to jerk his arm away, to protect Starsky from the contamination Hutch knew was still leaking out of every cell in his body. It took effort to fight the feeling and just nod and let Starsky lead him to wherever they were going. It didn’t really matter. Hutch was in hell, and he knew there was no escaping it no matter where he was. Hell was his new address.

~*~

The Torino was idling at the intersection they sat at for such a long time, that Hutch glanced up at Starsky. Even in profile, he could see how tired Starsky was; how strained his features were. Even the way his hands gripped the steering wheel was different and somehow strange—like he was holding on for dear life.  Why wasn’t he driving when they had right of way?

A horn blared behind them, making Hutch jump and Starsky curse. In moments they were moving again.

“Sorry, Hutch, I was tryin’ to figure out where we should go. That’s why I was keeping us sitting there too long. Didn’t count on someone honkin’ at us.”

“Aren’t we going home?” Hutch asked, and tried to inject some interest in his tone, but actually not caring where they ended up.

“We are, I was just having a hard time pickin’ which of our homes it should be; where you’d be most comfortable.”

Hutch was too tired and too sad to try and explain to Starsky that he wasn’t expecting to feel comfortable again. Instead, he looked out his window at the direction they were going. “Picked your place, huh?”

“Yep,” Starsky said. “I finally remembered I didn’t know if the locksmith got to your place today or not—I’m having your locks replaced—and I haven’t been back there since Dobey sent the crime lab over to dust for prints. It might still be a mess.”

“My place is a crime scene,” Hutch said, rolling the thought around in his head. He wished so much that he could just think clearly again, so that every thought didn’t feel like it was filtering through quicksand. He tried for a reasonable question. “I guess that means they busted things up?”

“No, it means they kidnapped you, and that made it a crime scene,” Starsky said, and even in Hutch’s disorientation he could hear the anger in Starsky’s voice. “None of your things are busted, so you don’t have to worry about that. All the damage they did was to you.”

Hutch nodded. That was one thing he had no trouble understanding or believing: he was very damaged.

“The reason I’m having the locks changed,” Starsky continued, even though Hutch hadn’t asked, “is we don’t know how they got in, and I don’t wanna screw around with the possibility there’s a key to your house floating around out there.”

Starsky paused and Hutch knew he was expecting him to make a comment, but all he could think to say was, “okay.”

“Plus, I figure neither one of us feels like cooking right now and we can get a lot more things delivered to my apartment than to your cottage. I don’t think you’ll let us live on pizza for days, which is about all we can get delivered to you.”

Another pause. He had asked the question about his home; was Starsky expecting him to respond again?

“Of course, you’re good for that veggie kind of pizza, but that’s not real pizza, Hutch. Not that Californians know shit about making a real pizza…someday, I’ll take you to Vinnie’s back home. That’s where a slice really tastes like a slice.”

Pizza. Starsky was rambling on about pizza, and trying so hard to be normal. Starsky _was_ normal, so why was he trying so hard? It only made what Hutch was feeling more surreal.

“Hutch? You okay? I mean, I know you’re not all right… Hutch. It’s gonna _be_ okay. I promise.”

Hutch didn’t turn his face away from the window, but this time he could respond easily. He knew this answer. “Some promises even you can’t keep, Starsky.”

Starsky didn’t say anything else, but he kept a hand on Hutch’s knee for the remainder of the drive.

~*~

Hutch curled into a corner of the couch and drew his knees up tightly. His stomach muscles ached and his head throbbed, but it was tolerable. He could ignore the pain. He didn’t have the energy to do anything else. He didn’t have the energy or the desire to even look up when he felt Starsky’s body hovering over him.

“Hey, how about gettin’ into something more comfortable? I have at least five pairs of pajamas in my dresser—you know Ma sends me pajamas every Hanukah, which I only wear when I have a cold or the flu—how does that sound? Or maybe sweats?”

“No, I’m fine,” Hutch said, and hoped Starsky would drop it there.

“How about just taking off your shoes and jacket, then?” Starsky asked in a tone Hutch recognized well. Starsky was coaxing him. It wasn’t going to work, though. He needed to keep his shoes and jacket on, in case he had to run. Who knew if, or when, the shame that was burning him up inside, would be too much to cope with, to feel, or even to live with? He’d have to run, then.

“No.”

He heard Starsky sighing, and part of him wished he could make this easier on his friend—put on the pajamas and pretend, so that Starsky could pretend he was fine, and continue to believe he would survive this. Normally, he’d do anything for Starsky. Of course, nothing was normal anymore and never would be again. Maybe this would help Starsky see that.

Hutch tried to marshal his thoughts to produce a reasonable explanation for not wanting to put on pajamas like they were going to have some kind of demented slumber party, but Starsky abruptly changed the subject. “I’m gonna order us some soup,” he said. “That great kind at the Chinese place, you know with the prawns and the chicken and the little dumpling things. I can’t remember what they call it, but if I describe it—”

“Wor Wanton soup,” Hutch said automatically, and then wondered which part of his discombobulated brain had spit that out. “The name is Wor Wanton…just get enough for yourself; I’m not hungry.”

“Why don’t we see how you feel when it gets here?” Starsky asked. “You haven’t eaten anything close to a real meal, or even food that didn’t come in a wrapper, in about a week.”

That startled Hutch out of his lethargy. “A week? It’s only been a week?” How could it only have been a week? Shouldn’t it take longer than a week to ruin a man?

“Only,” Starsky said, and then made a sound that Hutch couldn’t identify, and he cautiously raised his head. “You thought they had you longer?”

“I-I don’t know,” Hutch said, and dropped his head back down. “I don’t even know what day it is. Can you believe it? Who doesn’t know what day it is?”

“Someone who was beaten, and tortured, and pumped full of pure poison,” Starsky said. “Someone who's been to hell and back.”

The tone of Starsky’s voice put another crack in Hutch’s heart. He’d hurt Starsky, hurt him badly, and now he had to hurt him even more. “I’m sorry for what I put you through. I’m so fucking sorry, but I’m not back, Starsky. I’m still in hell. They left me where they put me. I’ll never be the same as I was. I can’t see a way out, and I don’t think I’ll ever get back.”

All at once Starsky was next to him, all over him, hugging him mercilessly tight, and then his hands were on either side of Hutch’s face. “Time to start lookin’ at me, partner. Think I don’t know you haven’t looked at me since we arrested that scum? Think I don’t know you’re tryin’ to just disappear into yourself? Think I don’t know you wanna run? I know everything, Hutch.”

“I know. I know,” Hutch whispered. “You know everything. You saw everything. You saw what I was…what I am. A filthy, weak, miserable—”

“Shut up. Shut up right now,” Starsky said, and he was almost whispering, too, which somehow made his words more intense. “You’re none of those things. You weren’t then and you aren’t now. “What you are is the victim of a violent crime.”

That made Hutch’s stomach flip and then he did the thing Starsky wanted him to do: look him in the eye. Is that what he was? A victim? Is this what being a victim felt like?

“And you and me,” Starsky continued. “We know how to take care of victims, don’t we?”

They tried to take care of crime victims. Hutch knew that. Whether it was getting them safely home, or to a hospital. Whether it was softly encouraging horrible facts from them, or finding them blankets, or…food. He gave Starsky a little nod. “Yeah, we know what to do.”

“Then let me do what we know how to do, okay?” Starsky moved one hand off his cheek and into his hair. “Let me take care of ya, tonight. Let me help you get back.”

Hope. Starsky dangled hope in front of him and it was as enticing, as seductive, as the needle he’d begged for. And as dangerous. His panic climbed. “You can’t! I can’t… and I can’t stop thinking about it. What I did. What I _didn’t_ do.”

“What’d’ya mean, what you didn’t do?” Starsky asked. “What didn’t you do?”

“You know what I didn’t do!”

“Hutch, no one can refuse that shit once their body gets hooked on it. It’s a physical thing, then, and it overpowers all reason. It overpowers everything! So, you’re beatin’ yourself up for something—”

Starsky was trying to let him off easy, trying to distract him with just one of the things he had done that he couldn’t live with. He knew the worst one. Starsky knew what Hutch had done to _them_ , to the partnership. Hutch wasn’t going to let him leave it that way. What if he didn’t have another chance to explain to Starsky how sorry he was for the betrayal. How badly he wished he could go back and make the right decision this time. He owed Starsky this confession.

“What I didn’t do _before_ any of the other stuff. Before they took me, and—before any of that. I didn’t tell you,” Hutch said, and released a shaky breath. “I didn’t tell you when I found out Jeannie was in danger. I kept it from you. I did it because she begged me not to tell you—she didn’t trust anyone, really—and I knew I was making a mistake to agree to it. I just didn’t know how big that mistake would turn out to be.”

“Hutch, you don’t have to talk about this right now—”

“I might only have right now,” Hutch said. “My body—it’s all wrong, everything feels so wrong, everything hurts. I can’t think straight. I don’t know if I’m going to—”

Starsky didn’t let him finish. “You’re going to. You’re gonna wake up tomorrow mornin’ feeling a little better than you do right now, and the morning after that, even better. You feel like shit right now because those bastards beat the hell out of you, and you’ve just been through forty-eight hours of bone-crushing withdrawal. They put people in hospitals when they’ve got that much heroin flooding their system. I couldn’t do that for you, because—”

The pain in Starsky voice tugged at Hutch’s heart. More pain he’d caused his partner. “I know why, Starsk. You were trying to protect me. If I went to the hospital doped out of my head on heroin, it would get out. I’d never be a cop again. Maybe never get any kind of job again.”

Starsky sighed and rubbed his eyes. “It was the only choice for our futures, but it was…horrible to watch you suffer like that and to know that a hospital could have made it easier.”

A clear, unclouded thought burst through the cobwebs. Starsky said _our_ futures. Hutch knew Starsky got him through withdrawal because of love and loyalty. Now he also knew that Starsky had never thought that they wouldn’t have a future together as cops and partners. He’d never lost faith.

“I owe you a lot, Starsky. I-I should have told you everything the second I found out.”

“You’re pretty determined to keep picking at that right now, huh?” Starsky asked.

“No, yes,” Hutch said, not sure where to start.

“This is the first time you’ve ever kept that big a secret from me, isn’t it?” Starsky asked calmly, but no matter how he’d delivered his words, Hutch could hear the hurt in his voice. And he had no idea how to answer the question.

“Will it make you feel any better to know that _I_ know, you didn’t make that call lightly, and that you don’t have another ocean’s worth of secrets you’re not telling me?”

“Starsk—” The choking guilt and panic cut off any further words, and all Hutch could do was try and breathe.

Starsky was instantly solicitous. “That’s enough for now, Hutch. I don’t want you gettin’ more upset—I’m trying to take care of you, remember?” Starsky said, and gave Hutch a gentle smile. “We’ll get there. We’ll talk about it…we’ll talk about it all, ’cause I have other questions, but not now. Now is for you unwinding some, eating, starting to know you’re safe. Safe with me.”

The statement, like the earlier offer of hope, just made Hutch feel worse; antsy, and he wished he could jump out of his own skin. One thing was certain, he couldn’t sit still any longer, and all at once adrenaline replaced the lethargy and he burst off the couch.

“I gotta walk, I need air—there’s no air in here.” In three bounds Hutch was at the front door and he laid his palms on it. “Can I take a walk?” he asked without turning around.

Starsky was behind him instantly, rubbing soothing circles on his back. “You’re not a prisoner, Hutch. If you need to take a walk--and you feel strong enough for it--we’ll take a walk. It’s okay if I go with you, right?”

He was asking him, not telling him. Hutch wanted to weep at how good that little bit of trust felt, and all at once he wobbled on still shaky legs. Starsky held him up by the waist.

“Whoa, buddy, maybe we should hold off on that walk right now,” Starsky said, and manipulated him until they were face to face without removing his arms from Hutch’s middle.

Hutch nodded, and Starsky lowered his arms. “Yeah, you’re probably right. I’ll fall on my ass before we get half a block.” He took in several deep breaths in a row. “I can breathe.”

“Yeah, you can, but a little fresh air would do us both good,” Starsky said. “How about we go sit by the window?”

Hutch slowly removed his jacket and handed it to Starsky. “That would be good.”

The smile that Starsky gave him was humbling, and all because Hutch had just taken off his jacket. He didn’t deserve Starsky. Maybe if he stopped being so selfishly all-consumed by how bad he felt and focused on Starsky for a minute, he could at least do a small kindness in return. He toed off his shoes without bothering to untie them, and briefly considered if it would make Starsky happy if he stripped naked where he stood, and asked for those pajamas.  Hutch shook his head at the thought of what Starsky might say to that action, and he almost felt like smiling. “Lead the way.”

~*~

An hour later, they were sitting in Starsky’s comfortable kitchen surrounded by Chinese food. Hutch was no longer craving air, or breathing like he’d just run a hard mile. Nor was his heart beating at a scary rate. Somehow, he was calming down, something he didn’t think he’d ever do again.

“I hate to say I told you so--” Starsky started.

“But that’s never stopped you before,” Hutch interrupted, then felt stunned that the quick response, so like their usual way of communicating, had tumbled out of him. Just like it had still been there underneath the pain all the time.

Starsky laughed, and that, too, felt normal, and good. It had been so long since he’d heard Starsky laugh. The meal they were sharing had changed some of his physical symptoms, and Hutch was startled to realize that his stomach had stopped its vicious burning, and even his muscles felt a little less cramped and achy. He ate his soup slowly and cautiously, still nervous about becoming nauseated again, but the soup tasted delicious and his system seemed to be tolerating it.

“As I was sayin’, I hate to say I told you so, but you _were_ hungry,” Starsky said, pointing to Hutch’s nearly empty bowl. “Now that we’ve got a little nutrition in you, you’re gonna start feeling more like yourself, I promise.”

All at once, the good feeling was efficiently doused. “You gotta stop making those kinds of promises, Starsk. I still don’t know if I can get back—” Hutch stopped, and debated with himself if he should tell Starsky, or if he should just drop it and let him peacefully finish what Hutch knew was also his first real meal in days.

“Hutch, even if you can’t believe me right now, can you just trust me?”

If only if were that simple. “Ah, hell, you might as well know, even if it’s going to make me sound even crazier,” Hutch said. “When I was waiting for you at the station, to finish with…him. I wasn’t even sure my _body_ was going to survive this. Like maybe the dope had damaged my heart or something? It was beating so funny then. And, now, my head is still so messed up. If I can’t get my head right, it will hurt even more to know I—disappointed you again. Let you down for a huge fall.”

Starsky didn’t say anything. He picked up Hutch’s empty milk glass and went to the refrigerator and refilled it. “Have some more milk,” he said, placing it in front of Hutch and sitting back down. His expression was serious and sober, and Hutch was responsible.

Guilt again, was he ever going to feel anything else? “That came out wrong, Starsk, I’m sorry.”

Starsky nodded. “Don’t want you to be sorry, but I want you to listen to me now, real good, okay?”

“Okay,” Hutch said and took a large sip. Now that he had started quenching a thirst he’d been unaware of, it was hard to stop with a sip. He wanted to drain the glass.

Starsky said quietly, “When I was tryin’ to put the screws to Mickey, rattle him, so he’d cough up any information he might have, well that was the first time.”

“First time?” Hutch asked, confused.

“That was the first time I let myself think you were probably dead. I’d beat every bush, searched for every lead, we had an APB out on you, and it had been days. How often does a cop just disappear into thin air?”

Shocked, Hutch squeezed the glass he held and could only nod.

“Once I realized Mickey didn’t know anything—then—I got up to leave, and I said to him that I was gonna find you. That one way or another I was gonna find you. And then it hit me like a fuckin’ freight train—what I was actually telling Mickey was that at the very least I was gonna find your body. Find out what’d happened to you. Then my stomach started doing somersaults and I hustled back to the car, certain I was gonna be sick.”

“Starsk—”

“This is your listenin’ time, remember?” Starsky said, and pointed to Hutch’s glass. “You can finish that; we’ve got more.”

Hutch took a big gulp as Starsky continued. “I managed not to throw up, but my throat and my eyes were burning like someone had put a lit match to them. And sitting in my car I said it out loud. I said Hutch might be dead. Really dead. I was sittin’ there taking to myself, can you believe it?”

“Oh, God, Starsk, I’m so—”

“That was a rhetorical question. I didn’t want you to try and answer it,” Starsky said. “I just wanted you to know that at that minute, I was as scared as I’ve ever been before. And I’ve never felt so all alone. Like all of a sudden, the world was this giant empty place and if you weren’t in it anymore, it was…well, it was a real bad minute. Then I got my ass back in gear and started lookin’ again.”

“You went through hell, too,” Hutch said.

Starsky didn’t acknowledge that. “So, if this is really it. If this is as far as you can get back to yourself—you sitting here in your sock-feet, drinking milk, talking to me, whole and alive. If this is it—I’ll be nothing but grateful for the rest of _my_ days, ’cause you’re not dead. You’re not dead, Hutch.”

Hutch listened, and more importantly, he felt. He felt Starsky’s gratitude for the pure and honest thing it was. A little bit of the fear that Starsky would one day be repelled by him--repelled by the knowledge that his partner had been addicted to heroin--started to fade.

“No, I’m not dead,” Hutch said slowly. “They didn’t manage to kill me.”

“Because you got away,” Starsky said. “Because that’s how strong you are. That’s how much you wanted to _live_. You got away from the goons who were gonna take you out, and you were half out of your head when you did it. Pretty damn proud of you, partner.”

“You are?” Hutch said, and then ridiculously had to choke back tears. The words were so sweet, like a balm poured over every hurt on his body. But he still had to clarify the fact that scared him the most. “Even though I’m an addict now? That I’ll always be an addict?”

“Even though,” Starsky said. “And I’m not gonna spend another second tonight trying to beat the fact in to you that you suffered a forced, short-term addiction, and that’s about a million times different than being a long-term street user. Nope, right now I’m just going to tell you what you need to hear and what’s the damn truth: even though. And even if you have to fight craving that shit every single day, I’ll be the good-lookin’ one at your side, fighting it with you.”

Hutch didn’t know if he was overwhelmed, or overcome, or even what the difference was. He just knew he was filled with love for his partner, and this time when his eyes filled, he didn’t try and stop the tears.

Starsky smiled and handed him a napkin. “Good for you to let a little of it out, but I think you need sleep right now most of all.”

“So do you,” Hutch said, and wiped at his eyes. “Is it okay if I take a shower first, though?”

“Like you gotta ask? Don’t piss me off,” Starsky said with mock annoyance. “My shower is your shower, but my shower has a fancy bottle of hair conditioner in it that you haven’t seen before, and there will be no comments about the color of the bottle, got it?”

“Got it, partner.” Hutch made his way toward the bathroom, feeling both the tears and the smile on his face. It was impossible to not feel warmed by Starsky’s very presence, and the knowledge that his eyes were watching every step Hutch took was now comforting, and no longer another source of guilt.

~*~

Unlike the shower he had taken in Huggy’s cramped bathroom, Hutch took a long time with this one. He deliberately and precisely washed every inch of his body, rinsed under the punishingly hot spray, and then repeated with another soaping. It was only when the water started to cool, that he shampooed his hair and then added a dollop of Starsky’s conditioner—in the petal-pink bottle—to his scalp and massaged it in.

When Hutch stepped out of the shower, there were two fluffy towels and Starsky’s bathrobe waiting for him on the counter. There was even a toothbrush, toothpaste, and bottle of mouthwash near the sink. Hutch smiled at that. Starsky was trying to make everything so easy for him, as if looking in a cupboard or drawer for the extra toothbrushes would be too much for Hutch’s nerves tonight. Just like he’d done with the shower, he took a longer time than normal brushing his teeth and using the mouthwash, but when he was done, he felt better—measurably better—and really clean for the first time since his nightmare had started.

Starsky’s robe felt soft and comforting against Hutch’s skin, and he cinched the belt a little tighter as he walked into Starsky’s bedroom. There, too, everything was organized and laid out for him—the lamps softly lit, the bed turned down and the pillows plumped, and a pair of navy pajamas sitting on top of the dresser.

“Hey, Starsk,” he yelled. “You forgot the slippers.”

In an instant, Starsky was in the bedroom. “Do you want slippers? I think I have a pair that’ll fit you, give me a second to find—”

“I was just kidding you,” Hutch said, and sat down on the bed. “I don’t need slippers.”

“You were kidding me?” Starsky asked, and then his face burst into a huge grin. “Ah, man, that’s terrific!”

“Why is that terrific?”

“Because,” Starsky started, then paused for a moment. “Because, it means—I mean, I think it means…I just like it when you kid me.”

Hutch smiled. “I think I left you with nothing but tepid water for your shower. Sorry, it just felt so good I stayed in there too long.”

“Not a problem, I like a bracing shower,” Starsky said. “You’ll be okay for a little bit? I don’t think I’ll be in there long.”

“I’ll be fine, Starsky. I don’t feel like running anymore. You don’t have to worry about me, okay?”

“Okay,” Starsky said, “but if you need me, you shout, ’cause I’ll just be in the—”

“Bathroom,” Hutch filled in. “My brain might not be firing on all cylinders—”

“Yet,” Starsky interrupted.

“Yet,” Hutch said, “but I still know where the shower is. Go.”

Hutch watched Starsky walk away for a second, then got off the bed and put the pajamas on. He sighed when his still slow-moving fingers took too long to button the pajama top, but made a conscious effort to ignore it, finished, and got under the covers. Maybe Starsky was right, and he _would_ be better in the morning. Maybe he just needed some real sleep, here in Starsky’s bed.

Faster than Hutch thought was possible to shower, Starsky was back, damp, with a towel wrapped around his waist. “I just need to get a few things, then I’ll be out of your hair and you can sleep—all you want, no alarms for us tomorrow.”

Hutch instantly felt irrationally nervous and his heartrate sped up again. “Where’re you going?”

“Just to the couch, partner,” Starsky said while removing the towel and putting on a pair of pajama bottoms. “I’ll leave the door open, so if you need anything, or start feeling sick, I can hear you.”

“Oh,” Hutch said, and then couldn’t think how to finish the sentence.

“What’s the matter?” Starsky asked. “Do you want me to keep you company until you fall asleep?”

After everything they’d been through the last few days, and after everything Starsky had to do for him, and clean up after him, Hutch was surprised that he could still feel embarrassed. It was humiliating that Starsky had guessed that he didn’t want to be alone. A grown man, afraid to go to sleep without his partner next to him. The familiar self-loathing was back.

“No,” Hutch lied. “I’m okay, so go get some sleep before I feel terrible about kicking you out of your bed.”

Starsky walked to the empty side of the bed and got in. “Maybe I still want some company. I thought you’d sleep better if you had the whole bed to yourself, but now I think that was stupid. We need each other tonight. Me, as much as you. Maybe more.”

Hutch rolled over so that he could face Starsky, and gently touched his cheek. “Thanks,” he said simply, then rolled back to his side.

“Been a while since we’ve been in the same bed,” Starsky said. “You were with Jeannie, what, three months?”

“Ten weeks,” Hutch answered. “The first four were…special. She was kind and so damn pretty. Remember? You hung out with us a few times. Plus, she needed me. She was vulnerable and shy. She made me feel ten feet tall.”

“You were born to take care of people,” Starsky said, rolling to his side and putting his arm around Hutch’s waist. “You should have been a social worker.”

“Probably safer to be a cop.”

“Yeah, probably,” Starsky agreed. “So, what happened in week five? What made the rest of the weeks less special?”

“Jeannie told me what she was running from…and who. Once she told me his name, I mean, Jesus! One of the biggest drug dealers in the country. Mob connections, and all the rest. She’d already told me what she had to do to make a living in Las Vegas,” Hutch said, and waited. When Starsky didn’t respond he pressed harder. “Does that shock you? That I knew she’d been a working girl?”

Starsky rubbed circles on Hutch’s belly. “No, it doesn’t shock me, Hutch. Everyone’s got a past, and you’d already fallen in love with her by then. I get it.”

“I wasn’t in love with her, Starsk.”

Starsky stopped rubbing and leaned up on one elbow. “Now that shocks me. You sure were doin’ a good imitation of a man in love.”

“I was infatuated with her--by her,” Hutch said. “Charmed, hypnotized…I think I could have fallen in love, but once I knew who wanted her back, everything became about trying to keep her safe.”

“That’s why you moved her to the beach house? It wasn’t ever about a romantic get-away, huh?”

“Nope. I had her there for two weeks. I thought it was so out of the way that no one would find her there. I pretty much shattered my savings account to afford it, but I didn’t know where else to put her.”

“God, Hutch, how long were you gonna try and keep that going?”

“That weekend was going to be the end. My plan was to talk to her when I got there. I was going to tell Jeannie that no matter how afraid she was, I wasn’t gonna keep the truth from you any longer. That I needed you to know. That I needed your help to figure out what to do. I needed my partner.”

“I wish you’d had that chance. I would’ve helped you. Helped you both,” Starsky said softly.

“I know that, Starsk. I shouldn’t have given in to her fear. I wish I hadn’t.”

“You’re still worried about her, aren’t you?”

Hutch sighed deeply. “Honestly, I’ve been so fucked up today…and all the days before…that I didn’t give her much thought. When she left me, it hurt, but it was just one more hurt on top of everything else.”

“And now?” Starsky asked.

“Now, I hope she goes to her aunt’s house in Michigan. Her aunt is all the family she has. Maybe, if she does that, she can really get a fresh start, especially since she doesn’t have to be afraid of him anymore.”

“Neither do you,” Starsky said. “You’ll never even have to see him.”

All the other things Hutch had shoved into a dark corner of his brain while he spent the day wondering if he could simply survive, came to the surface. Visions of witness stands, IA interviews, statements, and the press were overwhelming, and he squeezed his eyes shut. “Sure, I will,” he said shakily. “He’ll be in the courtroom, watching me squirm as his lawyers rip me to shreds. They’ll probably say I was already an addict, and that I willingly went there to shoot up.”

“Hutch, that’s not true—”

“Or,” Hutch went on as if Starsky hadn’t spoken. “They could try the angle that since I knew about Jeannie’s past, maybe I was gonna pimp her out myself—go into a side business. Be a dirty cop, since I’m a junkie and—”

“For fuck’s sake, Hutch, shut up!” Starsky sat up in bed and shook Hutch’s arm. “None of that’s gonna happen. There’s not going to be a trial.”

“How can you say that?” Hutch asked, and also sat up. “He’s got an army of lawyers, of course he’s gonna fight the charges. How many other times has he gone on trial? He’s won every time.”

“Not this time,” Starsky said grimly. “This time he understands the ramifications of kidnapping and torturing _my_ partner. He’s pleading out, in order to keep kidnapping off the charges—that would’a been a life rap if he was found guilty, which he would’ve been. Instead, he was smart enough to know that taking a narcotics fall—a heavy one—was his only play. He’ll do his time, and maybe, just maybe, he’ll get out around the time we’re collecting our pensions.”

The relief was sweet and overwhelming. “You did that,” Hutch said. “You did all of that.”

“Dobey helped, and he called in a favor with the DA, but, yeah, I did that,” Starsky said. “They tell me I can be convincing when motivated. I was pretty damn motivated.”

Hutch laughed a little, and laid back down. “Yeah, you can be.”

“So, do you believe me now? Do you believe he’s dead to you?”

Hutch thought about it, took it in deeply and found his trust in Starsky was stronger than his fear. “Yeah, I believe you. Ben Forest is dead to me.”

“Thank God,” Starsky said, and flopped back down heavily. “Now we can get some sleep.”

“Starsk, does this mean I don’t have to face IA? Is my...are all the details about what happened to me…are people going to know?”

“It’s all handled, babe,” Starsky said. “The captain had already laid the groundwork before you and me even got to the station with Forest. Once I was done with him, and Dobey had finished doing his thing—it was all handled.”

“What about your part?” Hutch asked. “You killing Monk and all…are you in any hot water?”

“Nope, just the regular bullshit about firing my weapon. I’ll be off a few days, too, but I would have taken off anyway to be with you, so it’s all good.”

Hutch remembered a few months back, when he’d had to kill in the line of duty and how badly he’d felt in the aftermath. “I never even asked you if you were feeling okay about it. I’ve really been a selfish bastard today.”

“You’ve been tryin’ to heal from a really fucked up trauma, and as you said yourself, your head has been messed up. There’s nothing selfish about dealing with that.”

“But are you okay?” Hutch pressed. “Any regrets?”

“About killing Monk? Just one,” Starsky said, and issued a huge yawn.

“What? What do you regret?”

“That I could only kill the sonofabitch once. Can we go to sleep now?”

Hutch nodded. “Yeah, we can.”

~*~

There was a sliver of light shining through the small separation in the heavy curtains when Hutch’s eyes opened. That tiny bit of light, in the otherwise still darkened bedroom, was the only indication that it was morning. Or maybe it was the afternoon? Hutch had no idea how long he’d slept, but other than the dull ache in his ribs and thighs that had been with him since he’d been beaten, he felt good.

Starsky’s arm was loosely draped around his middle, and his body was pressed closely to Hutch. Even in his sleep, Starsky was protecting him, surrounding him with love, and Hutch felt something that yesterday he thought he’d never feel again: happy. Happy and lucky. And all due to the man who held him so closely.

Hutch lightly wove his fingers in Starsky’s open hand, and although he hadn’t wanted to wake him, just touch him, he felt Starsky stretch.

“G’mornin’,” Starsky mumbled, and gripped Hutch’s fingers. “You sleep okay?”

“I slept like a rock,” Hutch answered, “but I woke you, and I can tell you want more sleep. Close your eyes again.”

“Never opened ’em,” Starsky said, and curled even closer to Hutch, close enough that he could feel Starsky’s morning erection poking him in the rump.

“Um, Starsk—”

“Ignore that,” Starsky said, without a trace of embarrassment. “It just feels good to hold you like this—it’ll go away.”

“It feels good to be held this way,” Hutch said. “With…well, you know…I did all the holding. I think I forgot that it can go both ways.”

“To hold and be held, huh?” Starsky asked. “All those weeks you were with her…I was wonderin’ if you’d put _both ways_ behind you. I won’t lie. I missed you…that way.”

“I missed you, too,” Hutch said. “Did you think I’d stop wanting you even if I was emotionally involved with someone else?”

“Yeah, I did.”

The sadness in Starsky’s tone hurt. “Well, I didn’t, okay? And if my body was working right now, I’d show you. God, that would feel really good to show you…I don’t know if that means my head is getting straight, or if I’m finally diving off the deep end for sure…but if I could….”

Starsky ran his hand up and down Hutch’s hip, making his nerve-endings tingle. “Trust me, Hutch, if I thought your head was ready for it, I could wake your body up. I could take care of ya.”

Hutch turned over until they were face-to-face. “You’ve been taking care of me for days,” he said, and brazenly slipped a hand into Starsky’s pajamas. “Maybe I could take care of you right now?” He gripped Starsky’s cock firmly, and held it tight. “How does that sound?”

“I don’t give a damn how it sounds, it feels terrific,” Starsky said, and then groaned lightly. “I don’t wanna do anything you’re not ready for, though…even if your hand…God, your hand’s so strong, so big…even if it feels….”

Hutch released Starsky, raised up on his knees, and used both hands to throw the covers off them. He stared down at Starsky’s wanton form, and felt intense warmth flowing through his veins. Starsky was so beautiful. He gripped the waistband of Starsky’s pajamas and looked into his eyes. “I’m gonna take these off, okay?”

“Not yet, partner,” Starsky said, and reached up for the buttons on Hutch’s pajama top. “If I’m gonna get naked…you’re gonna get naked with me.”

In moments, Hutch was bare-chested and amazed to feel his nipples erect and hot. Starsky ran gentle fingers over the fading bruises on his ribs and asked one more time, “You’re sure?”

“You’re the only thing I _am_ sure about right now, Starsk. This is my choice, I want this, if you  want me--”

Starsky didn’t let him finish. He pulled Hutch on top of him, and pulled at Hutch’s pajama bottoms, then rubbed his bare ass—not gently but needy, hungry—and it felt so good. “Kick those off,” Starsky said, pointing to the pajamas that were now around Hutch’s knees, while he removed his own. Bare, and of one mind, they stretched out together and enjoyed a full-body hug, until Starsky manipulated Hutch underneath him. Starsky’s erection was huge now—hot and dangerous and rubbing against Hutch’s soft bulk. “Missed this so much.”

“Then let me at you,” Hutch said. “God, you’re so hard…you’re gonna start hurting. Let me use my hand or my mouth. Make you feel so good.”

Starsky ground against him one more time, then rolled off and scooted down the bed until his face was level with Hutch’s groin. “You _are_ makin’ me feel good.” He stroked Hutch’s balls with two fingers, feather-light, then kissed the head of Hutch’s cock. “I just wanna see what we can get started down here. Wanna see how good you can feel.”

Hutch shook his head. “I love what you’re doing, Starsk...but, I don’t think…it’s not gonna get…maybe it’s still the drug—”

“Drug is all out of your system. We’ve just gotta remind your body to do what it knows how to do.” Starsky gathered him up in his left hand and started a firm pump. “It’s time to raise the roof.”

Hutch threw his head back. He didn’t think he was going to get hard, but it didn’t matter. He hadn’t felt like this in so long. The strong fingers wrapped around him so tightly…being handled by this man, by this one man, felt so wonderful. He spread his legs wide.

“That’s it, baby, relax and open up for me,” Starsky crooned and pumped him faster. “Love feelin’ your hot velvety cock in my palm…love feelin’ it get hard. Can you feel it? You’re gettin’ big. Getting hard.”

And amazingly he was. Hutch wanted to cry out in joy, but Starsky’s hand was slowing down, and that was tantalizing, making him breathe in gasps out of his mouth. How could it be happening so fast? “Starsk--”

“I know, I know…your body’s reactin’ quick. You needed this bad. Do you want my mouth?”

“No, just keep your hand…keep pumping, pull my balls, everything!”

Starsky did as he asked, pumping him to a blinding orgasm in seconds. Hutch saw stars and flashing rainbow colors before his eyes cleared, and there was Starsky, leaning over him with the sweetest grin.

“Guess I got everything working again,” Starsky said, and drew a circle in the ejaculate on Hutch’s belly. “I must be a pretty good mechanic.”

Hutch laughed. “Yeah, nobody can do a tune-up like you can. Your engine is still racing, though. You might have turned me into a noodle, but my mouth still works. Get up here.”

Starsky spread his ejaculate out slowly and carefully, until he’d made a slick strip ending where Hutch’s pubic hair started. He laid down on top of Hutch. “Has it been so long that you forgot how I like to finish? It’s just like this,” he said, and began to rub back and forth. “It’s not a party until I get you soaked.”

Hutch laughed again, and buried his hands in Starsky’s hair, steadying his head, staring into his eyes while Starsky sought and found his pleasure. Pleasure Hutch’s body was providing. Pure balm for his soul. When Starsky cried out, Hutch clutched him close and petted his back until his breathing slowed to normal.

“Thank you, partner,” Starsky said hoarsely. “I think I needed that, too.”

“It feels pretty amazing to be able to make you feel like that,” Hutch said. “When I think about how I felt twenty-four hours ago…it’s all pretty amazing.”

“Before I send you to the bathroom for a much-needed shower,” Starsky said, and deftly dodged Hutch’s playful swat. “Can I ask you one more time?”

“Ask me what? You can ask me anything, Starsk. I’ll tell you anything and everything.”

Starsky took a breath and cupped Hutch’s cheek with his hand. “Are you okay? Are you really okay?”

Hutch thought about the question, what it meant, and what Starsky was really asking. The care and concern were the same as when he’d asked Hutch the same question at Forest’s mansion, but this time Hutch could answer truthfully, gratefully, and with his whole heart. “I _will_ be.”

 

The end

 


End file.
